


Unexpected

by MadamRed



Series: 400-Follower Celebration (Tumblr) [5]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRed/pseuds/MadamRed
Summary: Writing prompt requested on Tumblr: “I can't breathe...”





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning :** Season five spoilers.

‘Hotch,’ you called, a little bit alarmed at the sudden pain you felt in your abdominal area.

Your boss was talking to the officer in charge of the crime scene you were visiting –in DC, thankfully– and hadn’t even heard you, so you decided to try again, a bit more... forcefully. Given the circumstances, you were sure he would understand.

 _‘Aaron!’_ you practically barked at him.

He immediately looked up and saw you grabbing your 7-month-pregnant belly and holding onto the SUV’s open door for support. He excused himself abruptly and ran to your side.

‘Did your water break?’ he asked, already helping you into the back seat of the car.

‘No, not yet. I just.... _AH!_ I just feel pain, _intense_ pain,’ you were on the verge of tears. Nate, your husband, was out-of-state in the very last business trip he had arranged before the baby arrived. Oh, the irony of the situation was probably going to make you all laugh in the future.

‘Alright, we’re going to the hospital. Try to time the contractions,’ he said, jumping into the front seat; the case and the scene forgotten.

You felt utterly terrified. You were only seven months into your pregnancy! You knew it was a possibility, especially for first-time mothers, but your doctor had told you the baby was not going to come any time soon just the week before.

‘From your grunts and groans, I’d say your contractions are still five minutes apart,’ Hotch commented after twenty minutes, his eyes briefly connecting with yours in the rearview mirror.

‘Thanks, _Reid,’_ you said sarcastically. A big contraction came then and you were barely aware of how loudly you were screaming until you ran out of air. ‘Hotch,’ you puffed out, ‘I-I can’t breathe and I feel dizzy.’

‘Come on, (Y/N)! We’re almost there,’ he told you as he accelerated as much as he dared to with you lying down in the back seat.

When you arrived five minutes later, you were pretty much hyperventilating as a nurse rushed towards the SUV with a wheelchair after Hotch ran in to get help.

‘Okay, mum: I need you to follow my instructions and to breathe with me, alright?’ the nurse told you in a calm voice but leaving no room to argue. You nodded, focusing solely on breathing.

After a doctor checked on you, you were told that they were only Braxton-Hicks contractions and that the baby was, most definitely, not coming yet.

An hour after being checked, the contractions finally subsided, and you and Hotch made your way out, thanking the healthcare professionals who had been extremely patient and kind with you.

‘Be careful when the real thing happens, ma’am. You were lucky your husband was able to bring you here so quickly this time,’ the nurse said as she discharged you.

‘No, he’s-’

‘Yes, lucky,’ Hotch interrupted you, rather dryly. ‘Thank you very much.’

And with that, you were out the door.

‘Hotch, why did-?’ you started saying when he helped you climb onto the passenger seat but stopped once you realised he had put the key in the ignition but did not turn it. ‘Hotch?’

‘You should take today and tomorrow off. I’ll drive you home,’ he replied, not making eye contact with you; his hands tight around the steering wheel. You noticed that a certain glint, which had been there that morning, was now missing from his left hand.

‘But-’

‘No arguments. The doctor said you need to rest. We’ll see if you’re okay to come into work in a couple of days. If not, we can move your maternity leav-’

‘Aaron!’ it was the second time you had had to use his first name to get his attention that day. ‘Aaron, it’s... it’s okay. We all figured you’d take the ring off eventually. You shouldn’t feel pressured to do so if you’re not ready.’

‘I know,’ was all he said. Then, not ready to leave yet, he added, ‘I’ve been... taking it off, to shower and such but, whenever I try to sleep without it, I stir until I put it on again. It feels like... like...’

‘Like a part of you is missing,’ you offered.

‘Yes,’ he replied, letting his head hang for a second before the façade came back on. ‘So, shall I take you home?’

‘You shall,’ you sighed, knowing that was the end of the conversation.

The ride to your house was silent, except for the radio in the background and a call from a very anxious tech guru who didn’t take lightly to being left in the dark, especially when it came to the health of one of her “hot and precious baby heroes”.

Once Hotch parked in front of your house and walked you inside to your living room couch, you finally broke the silence:

‘Thank you, Hotch. Sorry for yelling at you at the crime scene earlier.’

‘Please, don’t worry about it. You were scared,’ he shrugged. ‘I’ll check up on you later,’ he told you as he walked to the door, and then, as he turned the handle, he said, ‘Keep your cell phone close. I’m sure that wasn’t Garcia’s final call.’

Which turned out to be painfully true: Garcia called to remind you to hydrate, to lie on your left side and to pee every hour. All pieces of advice you also received at the hospital to prevent, and deal with, false labour.

When Hotch finally called at around 10 pm, you were so exhausted, you didn’t even check the ID.

‘Yes, I _just_ peed, Penelope. You were late for once,’ you announced, loudly, as you also flushed the toilet to get your point across.

‘Well, um, good,’ your boss’ deep voice said; he was clearly trying not to laugh.

‘Oh, my God,’ you exclaimed, embarrassed by what you had just done. ‘I-I, um, I need to wash my hands, Hotch.’

‘I’ll wait.’

You left the phone on the end table near the bathroom, washed your hands and picked it back up to resume the conversation.

‘So...,’ you trailed off, not knowing how to address the topic.

‘Let’s just forget about it,’ he proposed, and you gladly accepted. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Besides embarrassment at overreacting today and what just happened now? The baby and I are great,’ you answered as you manoeuvred your swollen body and flopped down on the couch. ‘Although, I think I might take tomorrow off to rest, you know? Nate decided to change his flight and he’s coming back tomorrow morning instead of the day after.’

‘Sure, whatever you need. How did he take the news?’

‘At first, he was scared something was wrong. But then I explained everything and he calmed down some. He’s still kind of apprehensive about me working this late into the pregnancy.’

‘My offer still stands: you should stay back at the office and then take maternity leave.’

‘I guess I should after today,’ you had been too proud to stop working before, but now it felt different. Then, you suddenly remembered your conversation in the car. ‘Hey, Hotch, how are _you_ feeling?’

‘I’m... hanging in there,’ he told you honestly.

‘Do you wanna talk about it or...?’

‘I-I... yes, I think I want to, or more like, I feel like I need to,’ he was confiding in you.

‘Whatever you say, don’t worry, it won’t reach any of the others,’ you promised.

‘Thank you,’ he sighed, knowing that he could trust you.

‘So, shoot,’ you prompted him after another bout of silence from his end.

A new tradition began that night: whenever either of you felt overwhelmed or just needed to vent, you would pick up the phone and chat about it.

So much so, that while your husband was driving you to the hospital the afternoon your water finally broke, you were on the phone with him instead of your midwife as he helped you through your breathing exercises. And all thanks to an unexpected bonding experience.


End file.
